Quotes About Memories

Say what you want about aging, it's still the only way to have old friends.

In childhood, we press our nose to the pane, looking out. In memories of childhood, we press our nose to the pane, looking in.

The mind, as you age, Is an artist, it seems. Monet paints your mem'ries, Picasso your dreams.

You can accept a falling out that changes your plans, but it's hard to accept a betrayal that changes your memories.

In the happiest of our childhood memories, our parents were happy, too.

There are memories I choose not to live with, but we hang out at the same bar.

You can be sad recalling sad times, but if you really want to be sad, recall happy times.

As important as shared memories is the silent agreement that certain things never happened.

When you have brought up kids, there are memories you store directly in your tear ducts.

There are exactly as many special occasions in life as we choose to celebrate.

Life is a series of family photos in which you keep moving to the rear until finally you're a portrait in the background.

At my age, you not only have bittersweet memories, you make bittersweet plans.

I find in old age that it's possible to revisit the past, the one requirement being that you come as you are.

Looking back on a happy life, one realizes that one was not happy all the time.

The happiest memories are of moments that ended when they should have.

An old woman looks in a mirror, recalls a little girl with a rag doll, and wonders what became of the little girl.

A vacation trip is one-third pleasure, fondly remembered, and two-thirds aggravation, entirely forgotten.

Life is a series of family photos in which eventually you stop showing up.

If minutes were kept of a family gathering, they would show that "Members not Present" and "Subjects Discussed" were one and the same.

When I am gone, my love, do not look for me in the places we used to go to together. Look for me in the places we always planned to go to together.

'Twas here we loved in sunnier days and greener; And now, in this disconsolate decay, I come to see her where I most have seen her, And touch the happier day.

John Anderson my jo, John,When we were first acquent,Your locks were like the raven,Your bonie brow was brent;But now your brow is beld, John,Your locks are like the snaw,But blessings on your frosty pow,John Anderson my jo!

The golden hours on angel wingsFlew o'er me and my dearie;For dear to me as light and lifeWas my sweet Highland Mary.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And never brought to min'?Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And days o' auld lang syne?